Twisted Tales
by Rose and Thorn
Summary: An ongoing series very, very loosely based upon some well-known and well-loved fairy tales. Chapter two: Marpunzel. The tale of two bickering kings, a "perfect" princess, and a food-crazy Stodmother.
1. Su White

**AN: **This is just a light, ongoing humour series that I came up with while experiencing some Writer's Block on my other stories. This will be my Block -Buster, I think. Whenever I hit a rut with my other stories, I'll use this to set my mind working again. Not to be taken too seriously, it is unashamedly and deliberately OOC in several parts. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, Sir Roberta is mine, but I'm not sure C.S. Lewis would even want to own _him_.

* * *

It was all the Edmund's fault, really, pondered King Peter. Edmund's and the hag's. If Edmund hadn't let that deceitful old woman into the castle to sell her wares, poor Susan wouldn't be in such a predicament.

Peter stared glumly at his sister, asleep in her glass coffin (and I'm not even going to address how they came by said coffin. Let's just say that if you ever see seven angry dwarfs, tell them that Peter has moved castle ... and kingdom), before turning the stink eye on his brother. Edmund cringed, gulped, and averted his face.

"How was I supposed to know that she had it in for Su 'cause she was jealous?" he asked, in a pained tone. "She seemed so nice."

"You, my gullible and deceived brother, should learn not to trust people on their appearance," said Peter loftily, with his nose in the air. "Now our dear sister will lie there, forever under the effects of the foul hag's poisoned apple!"

"Um, Peter," piped up Lucy, "it wasn't an apple – it was pear. And she won't be under it's effects forever, either. The hag said, right before you very foolishly ran her through, that only love's true kiss, or a fair imitation of it, will break the spell."

"Wow, Lucy," said Edmund in awe. "You deciphered all that from her incoherent mumbling? I'm impressed."

Lucy beamed up at her brother while Peter, falling to his knees, tore his hair both figuratively and literally... if that is even possible.

"Oh no," he moaned, "where in Narnia will we find Susan's true love?" he paused, before continuing in a serious tone, "Or, at least, some poor dope ready to play the part?"

Edmund looked serious for a moment, his forefinger pressed to his forehead, before crying, in a voice of thunder:

"We will have a... tournament!"

"Genius, Edmund!" cheered Lucy enthusiastically.

"What rot," muttered Peter under his breath, before turning on the charm in the form of an approving smile.

"Good, very good, my brother," he said, with a kingly smile, "with your ingenious plan and my wonderful charm, Susan will awaken before many days have passed!"

"Peter," said Lucy, looking up at her brother inquisitively, "I understand how Ed's plan _may_ work, but what has your charm got to do with it?"

"Lucy, dear sister," said Peter, in a rather patronising tone which made the little queen want to slap him ... _hard_, "my wonderful charm will draw the fair damsels from various kingdoms hither, and their suitors and brothers, wanting to see what all the -er- fuss is about, will come hither also. It is then, my dear queen, that we will trap them like mice and they will be forced to fight for our dear sister's hand!" He ended with a very sinister and un-Peterlike laugh.

"Oh, no," commented Edmund, waggling his finger with one hand, and closing Lucy's jaw (which had dropped open halfway through Peter's speech) with the other, "You're not vain at all. Not vain at all."

Peter drew himself to his full height, looking very noble and manly, and said:

"Quite right. I'm so glad you agree."

Edmund's jaw dropped also.

"Pe-ter," he said, regaining his composure and closing Lucy's mouth for the second time, "why are you acting so strange?"

"Strange?" Peter quirked an eyebrow. "Does not the older brother always act in such a noble and devoted manner? Would you prefer the depressed older brother?" he sniffed dramatically and a single tear dropped from his left eye. "Or how about the sullen, vengeful brother? A look of fearsome anger settled upon his face like a mask. "Or how about, and this is a personal favourite, the chipper, cheerful older brother who doesn't give a hoot?" A look of glee came into his eyes as he skipped cheerfully around the room.

Lucy shuddered, while Edmund covered his eyes. It was all too - strange.

"Pe-ter," Edmund ventured, after a merry Peter had returned to his first ... personality, "have you been reading Susan's romance, gothic, and adventure novels ... again?"

"Yes, my dear brother," quoth Peter, "I have. Remarkable books."

Leaning towards Lucy, Edmund whispered, between coughs: "Burn the books when you get a chance." Lucy nodded in a show of understanding.

The task at hand being remembered, Edmund went to Susan's coffin and looked down at her tranquil face. A sudden thought flashed through Edmund's mind.

_If she stays like this, she'll never yell at me again!_

Pushing the thought aside, Edmund groaned heavily. As tempting as that sounded, he just couldn't do that to his sister. No matter how much he wanted to. It just wouldn't be _Just_. Picking up a rose that some devoted subject had placed upon the coffin, he picked at it idly.

"How many days had she been like this?" he finally asked, placing the plucked flower in its original spot.

"Well, dear brother, it has been approximately –" began Peter in a pompous tone.

"I was asking Lucy!"

"It has been four days, Ed," smiled Lucy, with a nod of her head.

"Then we had better call the tournament soon. We don't want her to starve, after all."

With another nod, Lucy disappeared from the room in search of quill, paper and scribe; leaving a very disgruntled Edmund in the company of a noble and devoted Peter.

"Peter," said Edmund after a pause. "How many of those books did you read?"

"One hundred and four," was the casual response.

"No wonder you're acting so strange!" cried Edmund. "You need fresh air!"

Without another word, Edmund dragged his brother onto Susan's balcony (as they were in Susan's room), and made him sniff the fresh air. Perhaps Edmund was a little too exuberant in his attempts, for in pushing the back of his brother's noble head, he almost succeeded in making said brother lose his balance and tumble not too gracefully to the ground, several meters below.

"Edmund!" shouted Peter, sounding more like himself - and a very angry self, at that. "Let go of me!"

As tempting as that sounded at the present moment, Edmund grasped his brother's tunic even tighter. He knew that if he let go, Peter would have an untimely passing. Dragging him further into the balcony, so that his footing was, once more, even; Edmund turned his brother around and glared at him angrily.

"Now," he asked, slowly and carefully, as though Peter was a child, "what kind of a brother are you?"

"A very angry one," was the sullen response.

"Good."

"Good!" shouted Peter, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to strangle his brother. "Good! You question me without cause, drag me onto a balcony, bang my nose against the railing, almost make me fall and you say it's good!"

"Peter, I – "

"I suppose it's all fine, all dandy, all a great way to show your love ... if you've got a killing intent!"

"Peter –"

"Who's next, Ed? Susan? Oh, no, you already got to her. Lucy, then? You never really know a person until they make an attempt on your life. So that prank you played last Christmas was, in fact, more sinister than it appeared. I always knew –"

"PETER!"

"What?"

"If I ever find you within two feet of Susan's books, ever again; I will, personally, throw you _and_ the books off the highest turret in Cair Paravel!"

"Woah, Ed," said Peter defensively, "no need to get testy."

Edmund let out a groan of frustration and collapsed by the side of Susan's coffin. Obviously, Peter hadn't consumed enough fresh air. He wondered what personality he was playing out now. The monologuing Peter, perhaps?

"Where the Dicken's has our little Lucy got to," spoke up Peter, in a very refined English accent.

Edmund's palm made contact with his forehead.

"Why in Narnia did Lucy leave me with him?" he moaned, as Peter started talking about "a very interesting story with a jolly good plot."

"With who, Ed?" asked Lucy, catching the words.

"With King Peter, the Magnificently Annoying One," was the sour response. Peter cringed.

"That was – harsh – Ed," he complained, sitting down on his ankles.

Edmund turned to his brother in unconcealed glee.

"Peter!" he cried. "You're back!!

"I actually never left," Peter pointed out.

"Yes, yes, you did," began Edmund excitedly, before he was cut off by Lucy saying:

"Peter, Edmund, I think that you've forgotten about the matter at hand. Now, I dictated a decree that states that whosoever shall awaken Susan the Gentle from her enchanted slumber shall receive the good will of Narnia, the goodwill of Susan, and whatever treasure they take a fancy to in the Royal Treasury, within reason, of course; barring nothing but the crowns on our heads and the weapons by our side." Lucy finished with a deep breath, before turning to her brothers for their approval. She then added, "Oh, and there's also a little footnote at the bottom of the page, stating that you, Peter, will have a five-minute audience with the ladies providing they bring one eligible male to try and wake Susan."

"That sounds fine, Lu," shrugged Peter.

"Yeah, just as boring as all our other decrees," remarked Edmund. "Yours was actually more interesting than mine usually are though, Lucy, maybe it's because your subject matter is more unusual."

"Let's turn our attention back to Susan," said Lucy sternly, rather annoyed that she was the only serious one. "What's the fastest form of transportation?"

"Edmund," said Peter, with a smug smile, "when he hears that it's supper time."

"Peter," snapped Edmund, "when he has had too much sugar."

"Edmund, Peter," said Lucy wearily, "if you two don't quit fooling around and get back to the matter at hand, Susan will never wake up!

"Okay, okay," sighed Edmund, holding up his hands to represent surrender.

"I'll send for Orieus," said Peter, in a much more kingly tone then he had used so far. "He'll know which animals are the fastest. Perhaps he'll even choose a Centaur."

"Gryphons are fast," said Edmund in a thoughtful voice. "But they can be such feather-brains sometimes."

"Ed!" said Peter and Lucy at the same time, knowing full well what the Gryphons' reactions were the last time Edmund said something similar. It involved Edmund being stuck on the highest part of Cair Paravel by his tights. He had a horrid wedgie afterwards, although he'd die rather then admit it. Kings have their dignity too, you know.

"Anyway," said Edmund, successful drawing his siblings' attention away from himself, "I'll send for Orieus, give him the decree, and you two can go get the tournament prepared."

With a nodding of heads, the three Pevensie siblings darted from the room, leaving sleeping Su White in her glass coffin.

* * *

A week later, Narnia was invaded by a couple of hundred noble damsels, clamouring loudly to see the King.

Edmund stepped out from the castle, his hands in the air, a pleased look on his face.

"Greetings, fair ladies!" he cried.

Silence. The sound of a cricket chirping could be heard.

Edmund visibly deflated and stalked back into the castle with slumped shoulders.

Peter poked his nose outside the door. As if on cue, the visiting noblewoman lifted their hands in the air and began praising him. Peter poked his nose back inside and shot his brother a smug grin.

"Hey," said Edmund, "I'm just as good looking as you are!"

"Yeah, but I'm older, I'm High King, and I have –" he paused to place a look of indescribable pride on his face – "chest-hair!"

Edmund and Lucy exchanged a look of disgust.

"That's great, Peter," said Edmund, secretly glad that he didn't have a host of crazed women after him just because of some bodily hair.

"Yes, yes it is," sniffed Peter, amusing himself by sticking his nose outside the door again. Edmund and Lucy exchanged another look before sneaking away.

* * *

The day of the Tournament finally arrived, and it was with great dignity that the three wakeful monarchs ascended the dais and took their seats. Peter, in the middle, was surrounded by a group of adoring women; while Edmund and Lucy, on the left and right, were happily breathing the fresh air. They pitied poor Peter who was, unfortunately, being slowly suffocated by the amount of perfume his admirers were wearing.

"The price of chest-hair, dear brother," chortled Edmund.

"Shut up!" came the muffled reply.

Susan's glass coffin was nearby, and in it Susan reposed looking peaceful. She hadn't looked this peaceful, Peter remarked, since before Edmund's birth. This earned him a series of frowns from his little brother.

"The first knight is approaching the lists!" A Centaur bellowed, having been chosen for the job since he possessed a remarkably deep voice. "His name is Sir Roberta Phillip."

"Poor fellow," said sympathetic Lucy, "having to go through life with a girl's name."

"Hush," whispered Edmund, standing up so he could see Lucy over the sea of hair that surrounded his brother, "he'll hear you. Besides, maybe it's different in Narnia."

"I still feel sorry for him," said Lucy, with a shrug.

The young knight galloped to the front on his rather sickly looking mare. He saluted the kings, kissed his hand to the valiant queen, and clutched his breast as he looked at Susan. It was supposed to be a gesture of devotion, I assume, but it came off looking as though he was suffering from an acute case of heart burn. Peter nodded glumly in his direction, his main focus at the moment being to breathe; he couldn't afford to waste important energy on such trivial things as speaking.

"The second Knight is –" the Centaur paused – "unnamed. Your Majesties, this Knight wishes to remain anonymous."

"Very well," said Edmund, with a kingly wave of his hand. Peter nodded again – even more glumly.

"Duke of West Galma, Sir Johan," the Centaur blared, reading the names off quickly.

"Sir Ritcharde."

"Baron Lockwest."

And so on and so forth.

The jousts went by quickly. No serious accidents occurred, unless a mace being buried in your skull could be considered serious. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that no fatalities occurred, as Lucy was nearby with her cordial. Many a brave nobleman was dragged from the threshold of death that fine day, and Lucy had never received so many offers of marriage.

At the end of the day, only two knights remained to fight for the fair hand of Queen Susan. The young Knight with the feminine name, and the mystery Knight. Peter managed to struggle from the clutches of his triumphant admirers just long enough to squawk - _very_ quickly:

"The final battle will be hand-to-hand combat. The first person to disarm the other will win the Tournament!"

He was then dragged back down into the vice-like grasp of the surprisingly strong damsels.

The two knights circled each other like beasts circling their prey. Sir Feminine – I mean – Roberta, made the first lunge, successfully nicking Sir Mystery in the arm. Thrust and parry, parry and thrust. To a casual onlooker it seemed almost as though they were dancing. To a sword enthusiast like Edmund, however, the moves were a deadly show of mastery and symmetry. The climax, however, was anticlimactic, to say the least. Sir Roberta, after overcompensating to save his skin, made a wide arc with his sword. Sir Mystery pressed the advantage. Sir Roberta, feeling cornered, stumbled backwards, tripped over a rut in the ground, and fell heavily on his rump. His sword sailed through the air and landed at the feet of Sir Mystery.

"The winner!" cried Edmund, leaping to his feet.

* * *

La-looo!

The trumpets ran out, as Queen Lucy and King Edmund led the Mystery Knight to the coffin of their sister. Opening the lid, they gestured for the knight to remove his helmet.

A tense silence followed. The helmet was slowly removed. A mop of dark hair, a glimpse of shining dark eyes, a flash of bright, shining teeth. It was –

And no, before you get your hopes up, it isn't Caspian. He doesn't even exist in the Golden Age!

It was – drumroll – RABADASH!

Lucy gaped, Edmund groaned, Peter bolted from his seat, sending the women flying as he jumped. They all knew of the Prince's spoilt nature, views on Narnia, and violent temper.

_Please let it be a fair imitation of love_, thought Peter fervently, almost wishing that Sir What's-his-face had won.

Rabadash leant down, his clammy mouth ready to latch onto Susan's lips. Peter stood tensely by, all ready to _accidentally_ nudge Rabadash's mouth a little to the side. It was unnecessary, however, as a few millimeters from the fatal kiss, Susan's blue eyes fluttered open.

"Ewww," she cried, pushing Rabadash aside and sitting up abruptly. "Your breath really, really stinks!" She gagged and dry-retched, but, as her stomach was empty, nothing came up.

Her three siblings' mouths dropped open simultaneously.

"B-but," stuttered Edmund, "he didn't even kiss her!"

"Apparently the smell did the trick," shrugged Peter, hiding a smirk as Susan buried her nose in a bouquet of flowers.

Rabadash stormed off, vowing that the next time he competed in a Tournament, he would win the fair, beautiful, _rude_, barbarian queen's affection. In the meanwhile, however, he decided that a daily dose of perfume swished in his mouth wouldn't do any harm – providing that he didn't swallow it.

And they lived happily ever after ...

All except for Peter, who was forced to give out all his chest-hair as a souvenir to his most persistent admirers. Yes, all five hairs met the similar fate of being kept in a glass jar.

~The End~

* * *

**AN:** Ha, guess you didn't expect Rabadash! Well, we all know that he did, in fact, succeed in wooing her the second time around; but in my deluded mind, this was their first meeting. Ah, first impressions are so important, aren't they? And why did Rabadash want to remain anonymous? Who knows, perhaps he is more romantic then originally thought!

* * *

Please review!


	2. Marpunzel

**AN: **No, I haven't been given permission, yet. This, however, was just gathering dust on my computer and, rather than let it be deleted, I decided to post it. I hope you enjoy it, as it was a lot of fun to write. Please review still, as I enjoy reading them through email alert, and knowing my readers' opinions makes writing ever so much more enjoyable. This is also the longest chapter I've ever written.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

Imagine, if you will, a damsel sitting sadly in a decaying tower. Not even her sparkling, enchanting, violet depths of wonderment (in the words of mortals: her eyes); rose-leaf complexion; sweet, kissable mouth; or demure damsel-in-distress expression could distract her from her bout of woe. In short, she was unhappy. Why? Because her wicked, cruel, scheming stepmother (for, as everyone knows, it's _always_ the stepmother) had locked her in this tower in an attempt to separate her from her one true love: High King Edmund - er, Peter.

"One day my king will come!" trilled Marpunzel (for that was her name). "He will carry me away from this cruel, cruel world."

The sound of her evil Stepmother (or was it Godmother? Poor Marpunzel couldn't concentrate long enough to remember) cackling roused Marpunzel from her self-pitying stupor.

"Evil hag!" Marpunzel yelled down, waving her fist threateningly. "My Eddykins .... I mean, Petie-sweetie... will soon come to my aid!"

"Oh, would you just be quiet, brat?" an infuriated Stepmother/Godmother screeched in reply. "Why I ever kidnapped you is beyond me! You're grown up to be nothing but a pain in the neck!"

Marpunzel's sapphire ... I mean, violet... eyes clouded over. (If you looked closely - very closely- you would be able to see soft, floating little clouds). "One day," she said, in the tone of one who has to put up with a lot, "my King will come!"

Silence. Marpunzel's Stepmother's face wore an expression of contentment. Cotton wool came in handy, after all. Especially when used to drown out the sounds of one enthusiastic damsel-in-distress.

* * *

In the fair castle of Cair Paravel, Edmund the Just sat with a look of glum foreboding etched upon his pale face. His eyes, dark and hollow, stared silently at the castle walls, and his hair stood up all over his head like a bush. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days.

"Edmund?" Susan asked, coming into Edmund's chambers with his sword in her arms. "Edmund?"

"Er?"

"What's wrong?"

Edmund raised himself from his stupor long enough to throw a piece of paper at his sister. "That," he said dully, gritting his teeth, "is what is wrong."

Susan caught the somewhat crumpled paper with her free hand, dropped the sword, and began smoothing it out. "To the King of Narnia," she began;

"My dear Kingy-poo -" Susan quirked an intelligent eyebrow, glanced at her brother, shook her head slightly to banish a smile and continued reading –" My name is Marpunzel, and I am the very, very fair captive of a horrible old hag who insists that she is my real mother. I know that this is not true. How could someone as gorgeous as I be even remotely related to someone as ugly as her? Of course I, being of more then average intelligence, could easily escape by myself; but then what would be the point of fairy-tales? I know you to be a handsome, intelligent man, only surpassed in comeliness by myself - don't fret, dear Kingy-poo, I _am_ a girl–" here Susan was interrupted by the hoarse laugh of her brother.

"With a letter like that I hope she is a girl!"

Susan smiled, before adding, after a glance at the closely-written scrawl: "Edmund, this letter goes on forever!"

"There's another three pages just like it," remarked Edmund, with a doleful smile. "The one you hold goes on a tirade about her ethereal beauty, her Stepmother ... Godmother's ... growing jealousy of her charms, how she grew her up with every luxury but was - surprise, surprise - never happy. That her Stepmother–"

"Enough!" cried Susan, with a smile. "I get the picture. What are you going to do?"

"Trick Peter into going," was the casual reply, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Going where?" a voice chimed in, as Peter poked his head in through the door.

Faster then one could have imagined the reclining boy to move, Edmund bolted from his chair and snatched the paper from his sister's hand. "Go? Nowhere. You really need to have your hearing checked, Peter."

Peter humphed good-naturedly and yanked the paper from his brother's hand. Being the stronger(and taller) of the two boys had its advantages.

His blue eyes scanned the paper with listless indifference. "So," he said, a sly grin appearing on his face, "the sender of this letter seems very flexible, Edmund. She doesn't seem to care who goes. In fact, it seems that you are the preference."

Edmund muttered something concerning Peter's inability to read between the lines.

"So..." said Peter, catching the muttered words, "when are you leaving?"

"I'm not."

"Why?"

"It's a trap," replied Edmund bluntly, taking his sword from Susan and testing the point on his wrist, "as there are no humans in Narnia."

"Maybe she's from Archenland. She does say that she was kidnapped."

"Then why can't the King of Archenland rescue her?"

"Because this letter came from within Narnia's borders and she wants one of us to rescue her."

"Exactly!" shouted Edmund, a little too loudly. "One of us. You, being High King must go."

Peter scratched his head in frustration. He really hadn't any desire to go. Training took up most of his time. But, on the other hand, there was all that paperwork...

"I think we should both go," he announced.

"Oh, no, that really isn't necessary," said Edmund gallantly, "I'm sure only one King is needed. Go, with my blessing."

"Ed..." Peter's voice, for lack of a more threatening word, was a growl.

* * *

Exactly twenty-four hours and forty-three odd minutes later, a grumbling Edmund sat upon his horse, Philip, who seemed rather amused at his King's ill-temper.

"Stupid, overreacting Peter," Edmund said, gritting his teeth. He drew his sword and placed it across his thighs. "Stupid, self-centered, cowardly prat!"

Of course, Peter was none of these things. It soothed Edmund's flaring temper, however, to shout angrily at the object of his wrath. It was exceptionally useful, since the High King was out of earshot and couldn't retort.

"Snivelling. impudent --" continued Edmund, looking absently at his sword, "conniving, arrogant, malicious, er, er -- sneak."

"Did you run out of insults, Sire?" inquired Philip innocently.

"No," replied Edmund sharply, "I'm saving the rest for later."

If he had known how, the loyal horse would have rolled his eyes.

"Of course," he said, instead, opting to use a calming tone.

Edmund returned his sword to its sheath, and looked over at his brother, who was talking animatedly to a youngish dwarf. Rolling his own eyes, the Just King cantered over and gave his brother a nudge.

"Come on, Peter," he snapped. "We're going to be here all day if you don't finish talking."

Peter simply gave his brother a condescending glance and a rusty smirk.

"I thought that waiting would cool your temper," he said, reigning in his horse. "Are you really that anxious to go?"

"No," replied Edmund grumpily, "but even I have trouble waiting so long for you to move your royal --"

"Edmund!"

"Bottom."

Peter shook his head reprovingly, before glancing over his shoulder at his sisters, who were looking an awful lot like aspiring match-makers.

Well, Susan was. Lucy looked as though she would rather have seen them off to battle. Or, better yet, go with them into said fictional battle.

"Bye, Peter!" called Susan. "Be sure to tell me what a lovely girl she is!"

"Why don't you tell Edmund that?" asked Peter curiously. "He's the one she's interested in."

Susan gave him a pointed look, which clearly meant to remind him what happened the last time she teased Edmund, before coming forward and wishing them both (with only a minimum amount of twinkling eyes) a cordial farewell.

"Be good, Edmund," she said, switching to what Edmund called her "coddling" tone, "and try not to be too impolite."

"Me?" asked Edmund, with a contemptuous snort. "Impolite? Let's not forget, Su, who the diplomat in this family is. And let's also not forget who has the "Just" tagged to his name."

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Nothing. I'm just reminding you."

"Oh.." said Susan, with an uncertain shrug, "alright then. I'll see you when you get back, Edmund. I hope you have a good journey."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have a good journey," said Edmund sullenly, "it's just the end of the journey that bothers me. If Mister Magnificent over there wasn't so frightened of a _girl_, I wouldn't even be going."

Peter's indignant shout of protest was stopped by Susan's insistent tug on his leg.

"You'd better sleep with one eye open," she whispered fearfully, knowing full well what Edmund's pranks could entail.

Peter laughed heartily, gave her a loud smacking kiss on the cheek, pulled Lucy in for an impulsive hug and a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, before seizing Edmund by the scruff of the neck (effectively pulling him off Philip), and prancing (on his horse, of course) towards the main gate.

"See you later, Susan and Lucy!" he shouted.

"Philip!" was Edmund's anguished cry. He always became ill on unicorns.

Peter laughed again, gave his mount a swift kick in the ribs (and, by a complete accident, of course, Edmund a sound knock to the shin), and started at a brisk canter.

"Why'd - you - take - me - off - Phi - lip - Peter?" asked Edmund, his voice short and incoherent as he tried to simultaneously get used to the rocking motion of the unicorn's well-paced strides, and to also keep himself from throwing up all over the back of Peter's tunic.

"With your mood back there, Edmund," said Peter, his own voice smooth and even, "you'd have slowed me down with your sullen attitude."

"Would not," Edmund snorted.

"Also, my unicorn is faster..."

"Lies. All lies."

"And you don't like unicorns, if I remember."

Edmund frowned at his deviousness, before chuckling quietly.

"That almost sounds like something I would do," he noted.

"True," smiled Peter, "it's a slightly modified version of your, "ride the nice Gryphon, Peter", prank last fall. Do you remember?"

"Of course," said Edmund, "it was _genius_, and much more elaborate then simply forcing me to ride your nauseating horse."

"_Unicorn_, Edmund. And I was going on a spur of the moment type thing."

Edmund chuckled again, and leant back dangerously far on the unicorn's rump, his arms crossed behind his head.

"And what if it backfires, Peter?" he asked, innocently enough, although the stronger momentum he was currently receiving made him feel sick enough to --

"EDMUND!"

"I told you it might backfire," said Edmund, as smugly as he was able with a rather green face. The smell rising from Peter's tunic didn't make matters any better, either.

"We'll camp at the next lake," said Peter shortly, "and you'd better have practised your running.

"Sure, Peter," said Edmund, in a humouring tone, "whatever you say."

* * *

"Is this it?" asked Edmund, sliding off the unicorn with only a slight wobbling of the legs. "Is this what we came so far to see?"

"We didn't come to see a decaying tower, Edmund," Peter reminded him, swinging his legs over his mount and seizing its bridle in calloused hands. "We came to rescue What's-her-name."

The had been travelling for three and a half days, until, finally, here they were almost to the border of Narnia, a round, dishevelled tower directly in front of them.

"Marpunny, I think," said Edmund dubiously, "but this doesn't much look like a lived-in tower."

"Perhaps it's better on the inside," said Peter, "you know, with a few curtains, flowers, some nice pictures --"

"Peter?"

"A lovely dresser, a dozen or so mirrors, a few --"

"Peter!"

"What?"

"You've _got_ to stop spending time around Susan..."

"Oh, yeah, you're right. Sorry." Peter laughed sheepishly and drew his sword. "Let's go look around."

Edmund nobly resisted the urge to tease his brother, instead opting to draw his own sword and follow in Peter's shadow.

"Who do you think our opponent will be?" he asked.

"A hag," said Peter in a bored voice. " Marpunny's Stodmother."

"A what?"

"A hag."

"No, no, the fourth word."

"Stodmother?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, well, I just got sick of saying Stepmother or Godmother."

"Too much effort?" asked Edmund, with a smirk.

"No... it just worked better condensed."

Edmund muttered something under his breath about "lack of effort" and "shortcuts", before placing his sword in his right hand, and using his left hand to push a low-hanging branch out of the way.

Sometimes, being ambidextrous had its advantages.

"Seen anyone yet?" Peter asked over his shoulder.

"No," said Edmund shortly, not because he was in a bad temper, but because a particularly stubborn branch was uncomfortably stubborn in poking his middle.

"Well, keep your eyes open," continued Peter, qualms about hurting the trees totally lost upon him. Dryads, after all, never lived this close to the border.

"I am keeping my eyes open," said Edmund irritably. "Why don't you keep _your_ mouth shut?"

"Temper, Edmund, temper."

"Shut - up."

Peter, on the verge of a (it seemed to him) witty retort, was stopped by Edmund placing a warning hand on his forearm, and pointing upwards.

Peter complied, craning his head backwards and peering up at the top of the tower. A young girl, with golden hair and pale skin, looked back at him and giggled.

It was an _annoying_ giggle, in Edmund's blunt opinion.

"Hullo!" Peter called up, doing his best to appear magnificent with his back bent at an uncomfortable angle, and his head thrown back. "Are you Marpunny?"

A delicate hand covered the girl's rosebud mouth, as she shook a demure head.

"No," she said, blushing slightly, "my name is Marpunzel."

"Oh," said Peter, frowning, "one moment."

He returned to his normal posture, grabbed his brother by the unwilling arm, and hauled him into a bush.

"Are you sure it was Marpunny?" he asked, scratching the back of his head in a decidedly unking-like gesture.

"Eh," said Edmund, with a cautious and non-committel shrug, "it _could_ have been Marpunzel. I'm not entirely sure."

"Of all the times for you to have a memory lapse," groaned Peter, now knowing what his duty entailed.

He crawled out of the bush, a grumbling Edmund in tow, and gazed up once more at the girl.

"Er, um, I'm going to have to get up there," he explained, "so that we can sort out this name business, and I can rescue you."

The girl's cheeks reddened, the hand flew from her mouth, and she seemed about to voice a protest.

By that point, however, Peter was already crouched precariously upon the edge of her balcony, looking at her curiously.

"Now," he began, "what's your -- WAAAAH!"

The girl, with a vigourous push, had placed a delicate hand to his chest, causing him to topple backwards and hit the ground with a loud THUD.

Edmund, seeing that nothing but his brother's pride was injured, snorted with laughter, and gave the girl a conspirital wink.

The girl, Marpunzel, was smitten.

"Eddykins?" she whispered (screeched) in a voice laden with hope and adoration. "Is that you?"

"My name is Edmund. King Edmund, actually."

"Edmund, Eddykins, what does it matter," Marpunzel said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Er. Yeah. Anyway," continued Edmund, with a nervous, _manly_ laugh, "why did you push my brother off the tower?"

"He was ruining the fairy tale," Marpunzel fumed, "coming up here like that. You're supposed to use my hair."

"Use your hair?" puzzled Edmund. "If your _armpit_ hair is that bad, I'm sure --"

It was only by well-trained instinct, and a good deal of luck, that he managed to dodge the well-thrown chest of drawers.

Peter wasn't so lucky.

"Umph," the unfortunate, yet still magnificent, King groaned, as the chest made contact. He groaned again, two minutes later, when a wagged-tongue Edmund managed to get a closet thrown down.

Seriously, either Edmund would have to shut up, or this girl would have to take up a more feminine pastime.

Or he, himself, would have to develop a pain tolerance.

"Umph!"

And fast.

"Edmund!" he managed to scream, though it came out as more of a whisper due to the limited supply of air in his lungs. "Whatever you're doing, stop it!"

"Why is it always my fault?" complained Edmund. "Oh, no, it just couldn't be the girl's fault..."

"Why... not?"

"Because you probably have some sort of unhealthy crush on yonder monster."

"Umph!"

"Very unhealthy," added Edmund, watching as the bathtub was added.

"I - do - not!" squeaked Peter, his face blue. "Now help me out before I die and haunt you forever."

"Are ghosts quiet?"

"Edmund!"

Edmund laughed, grappled his brother by the flailing arms, and managed to haul him to his feet.

"Now what?" he asked, when Peter had recovered sufficiently to join in dodging.

"Now we figure out why she's upset," he said, before adding, "or what you said to her to make her upset."

"Jump to conclusions, why don't you?"

"I only jump to obvious ones," Peter replied, holding his sword above his head to hold off an onslaught of vases.

"Since when?" asked Edmund, looking upwards as the barrage stopped.

"Since you became my brother. Now stop dilly-dallying and help me get up there."

"You want to beard the dragon in her den," asked Edmund, in mock wonderment, "you're braver than you look."

"Edmund," said Peter seriously, "if you don't shut up and start making yourself useful, I'll tie you to the biggest Unicorn in Narnia and set it loose. There'll be no tunics of mine to catch your vomit, either," he added, after a pause.

Edmund grinned, told him that he took what he said to heart, and schooled his face to one of total and complete seriousness.

"Is this better?" he asked.

"Unless your point was to make her die from laughing, I'd have to say no."

"Peter."

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Peter laughed and looked up towards the sky. "Marpunzel!" he called, in what Lucy had deemed his "suave" voice. "Can we talk?"

"About what?" the fair-haired damsel queried, her feminine curiosity piqued.

"About us rescuing you."

"I don't help those who insult me," Marpunzel bridled.

"But we're helping y --" Edmund began, before a sly kick to his shin stopped him mid-sentence.

"Whatever my brother said, fair Lady," cooed Peter, warming to his task, "he's so sorry that he would face unbridled unicorns rather than hurt you again..." In a lower tone, "... and I mean that, Edmund."

"Well, alright," Marpunzel beamed. "Proceed to rescue me!" She disappeared from the balcony, leaving a disgruntled Edmund and a puzzled Peter behind.

"How," the latter began, "are we going to do that if she won't let us scale the tower?"

"She said something about hair..."

"Armpit hair?" asked Peter dubiously.

"Apparently not."

"Let's go hide and see if anyone else visits her," exclaimed Peter, with a stroke of genius.

"Brilliant, Peter," sighed Edmund, sarcastically, "simply brilliant."

"I'm so glad you agree!"

Edmund followed his brother with dragging heels, wishing not for the first time that his brother wasn't so dense with regards to the art of sarcasm.

Of course, Peter wasn't dense. He just knew that ignoring the obviously sarcastic retort rather annoyed Edmund.

And doing that made his day.

* * *

"Peter... this is stupid."

The two kings were crouched in the bushes, waiting patiently for the arrival of someone (anyone) who could show them how to get up into the tower by using hair.

"Not as stupid as getting crushed by a bathtub," Peter retorted, rather sourly.

"Not my fault!" exclaimed Edmund, with an overdrawn sigh.

"No... 'course not," said Peter, using his own form of sarcasm. It wasn't half so polished as Edmund's, but it would have to do.

"Shh," whispered his brother in reply, placing a sweaty and rather grimy hand over the older boy's mouth. "Someone's coming."

The _someone_ proved to be the hunched over form of Marpunzel's Stodmother. She reached the base of the castle, muttered somethings about "Hansel" and "Gretel", before sniffing the air and rapping savagely on the stonework with her gnarled old cane.

"Marpunzel, Marpunzel," she croaked, "let down your child..."

Peter and Edmund exchanged puzzled and slightly alarmed looks.

"No," the hag muttered, "that isn't right." She gave herself a mental shake.

"Marpunzel, Marpunzel, let down your beef..."

"Marpunzel, Marpunzel, bring down the beer...."

"Marpunzel, Marpunzel, let's have some chicken..."

"Stepmother," Marpunzel yelled down, "stop thinking about food!"

The hag directed a sour glance in her Goddaughter's direction, before following her advice.

_"Marpunzel, Marpunzel, let down your hair,_

_So I may climb the golden stair."_

She then practically beamed at getting it right.

"Hurry up, child," she croaked, whacking her cane against the tower once more, "there are men about. I can feel them... oh, and smell them, but that's beside the point."

"I didn't think I smelt that bad," whined Edmund, haphazardly sticking a nose beneath his armpit. "Alright... so maybe she had a point," he conceded, when his nostrils returned to normal.

"Will you quit messing around?" hissed Peter, grabbing his brother by the scruff of his shirt and forcing him to look forward. "We know the password now, Ed. We can get in."

"Thank you, Mister Obvious," Edmund groaned.

* * *

Several hours later, a boy with golden hair darted from the foliage. He looked for all the world as though he belonged in some spy movie. A younger boy, with dark hair and hands firmly fixed where his pockets should have been (if medieval outfits actually had pockets), followed the other boy. He looked bored out of his mind.

"Peter," he hissed, with a quick look around, "I still think this is stupid."

"Thanks, Polly."

"Peter, I'm serious... and what do you mean Polly?"

"You're sounding like a parrot. Always saying the same thing."

"I said it... _twice_."

"Eh, sounds like you've been saying it more than that."

Edmund gave it up with a sigh, and turned his attention to the object of their _mission_.

"Are you going to say it, or am I?" he asked.

"Do you remember it?" Peter asked, unsure.

"I remember everything of importance."

"Go ahead, then."

Edmund cleared his throat, and said:

_"Marpunzel, Marpunzel, bring down the beer,_

_So we may have a cup of cheer!"_

Silence.

"Edmund, you got it wrong," exclaimed Peter.

"Eh," said Edmund, with a shrug, "I guess it wasn't important, then."

Peter sighed heavily, wondering as he did so what he ever did to deserve _this_, before repeating the correct password.

_"Marpunzel, Marpunzel, bring down your hair,_

_So we may climb the golden chair..."_

Well, close enough, anyway.

A cascade of golden hair tied in a braid fell from the balcony, and Marpunzel's face appeared over the edge.

"Oh," she exclaimed, with less then maidenly joy, "it's you... again."

"You sent the letter," Edmund pointed out, jumping from her hair to the balcony and standing beside her, "and we have to rescue you. Deal with it."

"I really hate you, you know that?" said Marpunzel sourly, unforgiving about the "armpit" incident.

"I know," said Edmund cheerfully, "but you'll learn to love me... platonically," he added, somewhat worried.

Marpunzel was on the verge of replying, when the face of Peter appeared over the balcony and he struck a pose upon entering. He really would have looked quite striking and dramatic, if a well-placed spot of bird-poo hadn't been oozing down one side of his head.

How he got that will never be known. The stain on the back of his tunic was easier to place.

Edmund wisely repressed a chuckle.

"Mar-punzel," said Peter, with a dashing smile, "we are here to rescue you."

"My prince!" cried Marpunzel, oblivious to poo and stain, as she launched herself at the startled Peter.

"I'm a king, actually," he felt obliged to point out.

"Details, details," said Marpunzel absently, her arms snaking around her "Kingy-poo's" neck and attaching like a leech. "You can tell me all about it when we are married!"

"MARRIED!" shouted Peter, in what he hoped was a masculine scream. It came out as rather more of a girly squeal.

"Yes! Isn't it wonderful!"

"Wh - where did you get that idea?"

"A book of fairy tales my Stepmother ("Stodmother", Peter whispered) gave me. I felt just like the heroine, you know, and she married her prince in the end."

"But that's a story," said Peter weakly.

"Isn't it strange how stories can imitate life?" asked Marpunzel in a conversational tone.

"No," said Peter dully, "it isn't. A - and I can't marry you, Marpunzel. I'm too young."

"What, you're saying I'm old?" Marpunzel's eyes glinted angrily.

"N - no... I meant _we're_ both too young..."

"Oh?"

Peter looked over at a sniggering Edmund, silently begging for aid. Edmund rose to the challenge.

"You need someone dashing," he said earnestly, "someone willing to wait a few years to marry you... someone older than we are, maybe..." Edmund closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, a look of mischief glinted from their depths. "You need a strong warrior, a fighter, a... general, perhaps?"

Peter's head shot up, and he shot Edmund a questioning glance.

Marpunzel, on the other hand, seemed lost in deep thought. "Well, the book said royalty, but I think a general would be alright."

"Okay, then," said Edmund cheerfully, "within the next fortnight, General Orieus will be on his way!"

"Er," said Peter, with a small groan, "I suppose he will."

* * *

As they cantered back towards the safety of Cair Paravel, Edmund and Peter exchanged an understanding glance.

Really, they didn't know who to sympathise with more. Orieus for having to deal with Marpunzel... or Marpunzel for having to endure Oriues.

One thing they did know, however, and it was that they would not be celebrating Marpunzel's wedding anytime soon.

Or ever, for that matter.


End file.
